


you need a star

by Laurencin



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurencin/pseuds/Laurencin
Summary: Siegfried is self-conscious in ways he cannot (or, will not) articulate. Josef seeks to prove that the old adage "you can't find love until you love yourself" is bunk.
Relationships: King Josef/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	you need a star

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the True King for confirming that same-sex marriage among royalty isn't stigmatzed in gbfland and therefore siegfried can get piped without issue

"You are magnificent, you know."

The words sent a shiver up Siegfried's spine. He _did_ know, he supposed, in that distant way that one comes to accept that which they hear over and over again. But it was something else entirely to truly believe it - to have any faith at all in the notion that his liege could find him worthy of such praise.

Of course, it was difficult to deny as they were now, with Joseph positioned behind him, face buried in the crook of his neck, hands lavishing attention over his thighs. Siegfried keened into the touch, head lolling back to watch Josef work. It was easy to do, in front of their mirror. He imagined this was why Josef preferred to take him here, against the vanity; this way, he could see everything. Every scar, every twitch of his muscles, every blush. To his own eyes, his body was a wasteland; hardly a stretch of unmarred flesh to be found, between old burns and deep cuts and botched stitches. As a vagrant, a beast, they hadn't particularly bothered him; they were harder to see, sure, without the myriad mirrors of Castle Feendrache, but more importantly than that he had never quite stopped to consider them. With no real frame of reference, he simply hadn't known that his body was in any way remarkable; even now, it was rarely remarked upon beyond a low whistle, a 'what happened to _you_ '. Other knights had scars, certainly, but none were quite so patchwork.

To Josef, however, he was some sort of masterpiece. A tapestry, intricately woven with countless threads, each impeccably placed and individually marvelous. Together, indescribably so. But by the gods, did Josef try.

Josef's hand cupped under the muscle of his chest, thumbing his nipple as he squeezed, roaming hands calling Siegfried back down from his reverie. This, Siegfried had pieced together, was meant to produce some kind of reaction; when he had repeated the motion on Josef it had drawn a sigh from him, a needy sound that stirred and bubbled in Siegfried's gut. He suspected that his scars were the issue; that the traumatized flesh had given up on sensation. This was true of the curve of his spine, which only distantly felt Josef's tracing fingers; it was true of his ravaged thighs, which dimly registered the pressure of Josef's squeezing hands, but could not discern their texture, nor confirm that Josef had removed his rings.

But, his undamaged parts remained alert, attentive. His jaw, along which Josef's hand now slid, cupped, tipped to the side, could confirm for his legs that Josef's skin was smooth, touched by age but not hard labour; that his fingers lacked callouses, and the leathery texture that comes with a lifetime spent outdoors. And, yes, their rings were gone, likely stored for the moment in the box that sat a few inches away. Those fingers brought the tips of their noses together, and Siegfried felt that, too. Felt the delicate non-pressure as Josef nosed at him, felt the short, cool breaths it expelled puff against his lips. Josef's beard, dense and waxed, tickled his cheek, his chin, his lips, stirring up a soft laugh that Josef drank in. He drew in the King's tongue, still tart from the bottle of wine they'd shared, felt it trace along his sharpened canines. Those were fairly new - an aberration born of Fafnir's slaying, it seemed - but they seemed to fascinate Josef as deeply as Siegfried's bright, golden eyes.

Josef's other hand, satisfied with its exploration of Siegfried’s body, massaged the cleft of his ass, inquiring, but patient.

"Are you ready," Josef asked, lips still grazing Siegfried's.

Siegfried gripped the edge of the vanity, careful not to dent it.

"Yes," Siegfried sighed, brought their lips back together.

Whatever sensation he lacked in his hide, he made up for in spades on the inside. He could hardly contain a hungry moan when Josef pushed his first finger inside, and the sound wracked through his body instead as a violent shiver.

Josef, exercising the gentleness he only seemed to manage for his knight, stroked Siegfried's jaw, drew soothing circles on his cheeks as he thrust his finger deeper, pushed against Siegfried's walls.

"That's it," Josef cooed, pushing a second oil-slicked digit in, massaging against that _place_ \- that spot that made his knees buckle, that drew a stuttered groan from him, and a chuckle from Josef. "You're doing so well."

Siegfried melted into the praise, leaning back against Josef's chest. He knew better than to put his weight behind the gesture; he wanted the contact, the warm pressure, not to knock his liege to the floor. Wanted, perhaps, to better put himself on display for Josef, whose hand slid now down Siegfried's jaw, his neck, his chest, to hold him gently in place. There had been a time, not terribly long ago, that his desires were singular: to survive. His pursuit of strength seemed, to many, to be his primary trait, but it had always been in service of that one base need.

Ironic, then, that this pursuit had lead him to a life of such complete satisfaction that, if it came down to it, he could die without regret. Yes, for his liege, his mentor, his – and this was a term that had taken some getting used to, a word that felt so alien upon his feral lips it contorted them into a feeble smile – lover, he would do anything at all.

"Alright," Josef whispered, sliding his fingers out - tutting a laugh when Siegfried growled through the motion, rolling his hips against the last hints of pressure. "Don't be like that. Greedy thing." His hands crept up Siegfried's back; though they applied no real pressure, they still seemed to push him down, lay him out against the vanity. The wood - stained black and polished to a sheen - was pleasantly cool against his flushed cheeks; the same was not particularly true of the night air against his bare member, nor against his slick hole.

Fortunately, he didn't have to bear it for long. His king's head traced and prodded at his entrance, eliciting a whine several octaves higher than he believed himself capable. He could hear Josef laugh above him, and prepared a retort - only to lose it entirely as Josef pushed inside, sliding gingerly until their hips were flush.

Josef fucked _slow_ \- Siegfried wasn't sure if this was because he wasn't terribly young, or simply because he wanted to savor the moment, but it drove him very nearly insane. Josef thrust deep, yes, and ground so sweetly down against that _spot_ , but it wasn't enough.

"Josef," he said, breathless and aching, "please." In the mirror, he could see Josef's eyebrow quirk upwards, a truly troubling smile creeping over his features.

"Please what, Siegfried? Don't be shy."

Siegfried ground his teeth, hips stuttering against the chest of drawers. Always with these questions, these question without answers. What, indeed? Anything, really, anything at all, so long as it was--

"-More."

Josef tutted behind him, hips slowing. "Come, now, you can do better than that. I won't have you grunting commands like a beast.”

"T-" Siegfried growled, interrupted by a harsh snap of Josef's hips. "...Touch me, please."

"Touch you how?" One of Josef's hands returned to Siegfried's head, massaging his scalp. "Like this, perhaps?"

Though it was meant to be coy, Siegfried wasn’t entirely unsatisfied with this answer. It reminded him of the bath, and Josef's tender touches there. Without a word, or really a sound at all, Siegfried tilted his head under Josef’s fingers, guiding them as he wished.

“That can’t be what you meant,” Josef laughed, but his voice was blunted with tender affection. Siegfried supplied the answer Josef already seemed to know.

“It’s not, but this is—it’s, ah—“ Siegfried stuttered off, eyes drifting shut as his body rocked against the vanity, head cradled in Josef’s hand. “It’s good. It’s good.” He reached behind himself for Josef’s hand, the one holding his hip in place, curled his fingers around it.

“Goodness,” Josef sighed, only barely audible above the creaking vanity. “How am I to tease you when you act like this?”

With a breathy laugh, Siegfried cracked his eyes open, turned his head to look back at his king. His king, disheveled and panting, all for him. Robes cast over the bed, tunic askew, dark locks falling over his eyes. “I’m not acting like anything.” Handsome as always.

“No. No, I’m sure you’re not.” Josef leaned forward, then, pressed their bodies together, peppered kisses across Siegfried’s back. “You don’t need to, hmm?” His efforts to keep his voice level were admirable, yes, but Siegfried could feel Josef’s breaths coming hot against his back, his thrusts erring faster, harder. “You’re perfect as you are.” His hand, untangling itself from Siegfried’s hair, creeping between his legs. Working him in time with his rolling hips.

Siegfried, true to form, did not know what to say in response. He was not sure what Josef saw in him that warranted such reverence; whatever he was that was not abhorrently beastly was of Josef’s own making, certainly, but Josef had never been the sort to bask in his own praise. The conundrum had plagued him since he had accepted the king’s invitation, and he was no closer to an answer now than he was then. He resolved, instead, to simply appreciate the comments for what they were: affirmations of an affection more genuine than Siegfried had ever known. Rather than the hands on his body, or his liege moving inside him, it was this thought that brought Siegfried to the edge.

“Josef,” Siegfried said, squeezing the king’s hand. “Josef…”

“I know.” Josef guided their joined hands to the edge of the vanity, curled Siegfried’s grip around it. “I know. We’re almost there.” He could, ever so barely, feel Josef’s lips move against his back as he spoke, bristles of his moustache scratching along. “You’re doing so well. Gods above, I do love you.”

And that was it. With a choked-off shout – for even after all this time, that was all his instincts would allow – Siegfried came in Josef’s hand, hips stuttering pitifully in his grip. His liege was not far behind, chanting his name as he spilled inside, hips pounding out a vulgar rhythm as he rode out their orgasms.

It was true that Josef enjoyed the vanity because he wanted to see as much of his knight as possible; however, the same was true of Siegfried. For even now, in the dizzy haze of his afterglow, he needed only to roll his eyes to catch Josef’s reflection, and observe him with his guard well and truly dropped. The man in the mirror – the man who pushed sweaty locks from his brow, revealing a deep flush that so beautifully contrasted his bright blue eyes, the man who gazed along his ravaged form with reverential appreciation – was as much the king of Feendrache as the man who stood before armies, the man who commanded the respect of the nation – not only by birthright, but by the strength of his character. And yet, this was a version of him only Siegfried got to see. What a privilege it was, to be beloved to such a man.

A man even a monster could love.


End file.
